The Absolute Worst Halloween Ever
by Rusty Halos
Summary: Bruce and his best friends Clark and Diana are normal 7th years at Hogwarts, dealing with exams, magical mishaps, House rivalries and inappropriate romances...as normal as a Pureblood scion, a superpowered Muggle, and an Amazon out to explore wizard's world could be. In come Slytherins like Luthor and an alien god who could make Voldemort wet his pants. DCU set in Harry Potter AU.


**The Absolute Worst Halloween Ever**  
_(According to Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Diana Prince,  
and Pretty Much Everyone Else at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry)_

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Disclaimer: Not my characters or setting.

Sorry to anyone who got a false story alert-I was trying to replace a chapter and accidentally added one. Warnings: Genfic, but if you use slashy goggles it's a bit of pre-slash. If you don't like it or can't handle it, don't read it :) Also, general silliness, blatant shout outs, and geeky make believe.

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**01. In Which a Nefarious Plot Brews**

* * *

"Bruce! Hey, Bruce!"

"B, wait up!"

Bruce Wayne sighed, clutching his precarious stack of books closer to his chest as if they could protect him from the curse of overenthusiastic best friends.

"What?" Bruce asked, as two running figures approached him, bright eyed and bushy tailed as a couple of damned squirrels.

"Grumpy, grumpy," Diana said with a smile, adjusting her wayward cloak with a graceful flick of her fingers. "What's got you so worked up?"

"Here, let me take those—," Clark started, reaching automatically for the mountain of textbooks Bruce was carting around.

Bruce stepped deliberately out of his reach, and shot them both slightly irritated glances. The minute narrowing of icy eyes and the turn of a heavy, aristocratic mouth might have been lost on those less skilled in the art of reading Bruce Wayne, but Diana and Clark were veritable experts.

"I'm _working_," Bruce said flatly. "And you should be as well. Today in Transfiguration, McGonagall said—,"

"_Bruce_," Clark cut in, sounding as exasperated as Clark ever got. "You're about a million leagues ahead of everyone else in our year. What in Merlin's name could you possibly be studying?"

"If you lot are so far behind," Bruce replied. "Then maybe you ought to be the ones reading these books."

Diana was obviously trying to refrain from rolling her eyes. "B, we've hardly seen you for weeks. You can't have been studying all that time. What's going on?"

"Is it Selina Kyle again?" asked Clark, peering at Bruce with the intent look of someone with x-ray vision and little conception of personal boundaries between best friends. "I told you Slytherin girls were trouble—,"

"No, it isn't Selina. I've simply been preparing for N.E.W.T.s," Bruce said stiffly, adjusting his hold on his textbooks expertly to avoid being buried beneath three thousand pages of _The Wizard's Guide to Foot, Toe, and Nail Spells, Thirtieth Edition Edited by Mencilius Mank_.

"You?" Diana asked. "Bruce, you could have passed your N.E.W.T.s three years ago while down with a fever that made you hallucinate tap dancing watermelons." There was a frown on her perfect lips, one that both Clark and Bruce recognized as the 'you're lying and I know it, little man' expression.

"Plus, it's _October_," Clark said. "N.E.W.T.s aren't for _ages_."

Bruce allowed himself a sigh. Sometimes he wished he'd been sorted into a less…nosy house. Ravenclaws seemed to leave each other well alone. And Slytherins were too busy being power hungry to bug their friends about study habits and other such things that were _none of their business_. Even Hufflepuff might have been acceptable, given their propensity towards polite social interaction that in no way approached interrogation.

But no, Gryffindor it had been. Gryffindor, amongst fools who leapt before they looked and called it courage, who attached themselves like limpets and became your friends, whether you wanted them to or not.

Bruce sighed again. He didn't have to heart to tell Clark and Diana an outright lie, not after nearly three days without sleep and the wind lashing through their dark hair, all three so alike they could have been family in blood instead of just will.

"I'm…I'm working on a project I want to implement after we leave Hogwarts," Bruce said slowly.

Clark furrowed his brows behind his ridiculous round glasses. "You mean like a job? B, you've got Wayne Enterprises to run, don't you? Isn't that…like…the Stark Industries of the wizarding world?"

"Stark Industries?" Diana asked blankly. "What's that?"

"Muggle corporation," Bruce said dismissively, used to translating between Clark's Muggleborn references and Diana's Pureblood obliviousness. "Yes, I know. But Lucius Fox has been doing most of the actual running for over a decade. I…I have other plans."

Diana and Clark traded looks.

"What sort of plans?" asked Diana, tucking a thick strand of hair behind one ear, brilliant eyes boring into him.

Bruce grimaced, just slightly. "I'm still developing them."

"We aren't allowed to know?" said Clark, looking just crestfallen enough that Bruce relented, a little pang in his heart saying, _you fool_.

"When the time is right, I'll tell you," Bruce said, quietly. "But not now."

"Alright," Diana said, even as Clark's face brightened. "But Bruce, you should really come with us to dinner, at least. I haven't seen you in the Great Hall in days. You _have_ been eating, haven't you?"

"I saw him tickling the pear at the kitchens the other night," Clark said, looking as cheerful as ever. Bruce had the distinct impression that he'd been…how did Clark say the Muggles put it? _Played_.

Bruce could feel a headache coming on.

"Fine," he said. "I'll come eat with you. But if you're forcing me into this, then _here_—," he thrust his entire tottering stack of books into Clark's surprised arms. "You take these."

"I feel like a pack mule," Clark said, from behind the books. Diana grinned, patted Clark on the shoulder, then looped one arm through Bruce's.

"I'm sure anyone who can juggle trains can handle a pile of books," Bruce said drily, as Diana began towing him towards the castle.

Clark made an indignant noise, trotting behind his two friends and carefully balancing the books against the wide expanse of his chest.

"Now, B," Diana said, eyes dancing. "Play nice. We all know Clark's _sensitive_."

* * *

Bruce had to admit that it felt…_good_…to be cocooned in the warm rowdiness of the Great Hall, squashed between Shayera Hol on one side and Clark on the other, shoulders brushing conspiratorially over treacle tart and pumpkin juice. The food was hearty and the atmosphere jovial; Halloween was right around the corner and the castle itself seemed to be gleefully anticipating the holiday. The suits of armor in the hall were restless like they always were this time of year, clanking about and adding to the merry din. Even the magical ceiling above was in a good mood, crackling cheerfully with thunder and occasionally illuminating the hall with a brilliant flash of lightning.

"Well, well, well," came a nasally, sneering voice. "If it isn't Brucie and his Mudblood sidekicks. I'm surprised you can bear to sit next to Kent, Brucie. I've heard all _manner_ of things about him…all those impossible feats of strength…how he's one good explosion away from losing his marbles…"

"You watch your mouth, Cobblepot," John Stewart snapped from his seat across from Shayera, green eyes alight with irritation. "Go back to your side of the hall."

"That wasn't very nice," Oswald sniffed, looking down his long pointed nose at the seated Gryffindors. "Besides, I came over here to talk to Brucie."

"What is it?" asked Bruce, warily. He'd known Oswald Cobblepot since they were children, both of them from some of the oldest Pureblood stock in the wizarding world. Their ancestral estates were laid out near the same ancient, dark Gotham Forest.

And that was just about where the similarities ended.

"Mannheim and Luthor would like a word with you," Oswald said, his voice suddenly obsequious.

"No," said Bruce.

Oswald Cobblepot blinked, thrown for a split second. "Look, Wayne—,"

"No."

"Well, it's your funeral," Oswald said with a shrug that seemed to move his whole rather rotund, lumpy body. He turned and left the Gryffindors, walking in that peculiar way he had that was almost…waddling.

"Luthor and Mannheim," Clark said, breaking his silence, his voice uncharacteristically harsh. "They can't be up to anything good. What on earth could they have wanted with you, B?"

Bruce grunted, his clever mind already working through all the possibilities.

"The way Cobblepot does their bidding is horrible," Diana said, watching the retreating figure with the slightest haughty upturn to her aristocratic nose.

"If you ask me, all three of them could do with a quick boot up the—,"

"_Shayera_," said John, sounding rather scandalized.

"What?" asked Shayera, with a shrug. "You can't tell me you feel differently."

"Did I just see the ol' Penguin drop by?" said a new voice, and then Wally West was plopping himself down next to Diana, hands already reaching for a loaded plate of chocolate biscuits. "He walked by my seat at the Hufflepuff table muttering under his breath like a loon."

"Yes, and by me at the Ravenclaw table as well," Jon Jones said in his deep monotone, seating himself gracefully next to Clark. "I believe that a few of the Slytherins are planning something, come Halloween."

"Planning something?" asked Clark, raising an eyebrow. "Like some sort of…dastardly plot to take over the world?"

"Nothing so farfetched as that," Jon said thoughtfully. "But I do think it has something to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"You-Know-Who?" asked Wally, his eyes going round beneath his unruly mop of violently red hair. "I thought he was…well…" Wally made a cutting motion across his throat. "Ever since that thing with the Potter kid, at least."

"No, not him," Jon said. "I mean…ah…"

"Darkseid," Shayera said bluntly. "He means Darkseid, Wally."

Near everyone within hearing distance automatically winced at the name, and a few turned their heads to glare at Shayera, who rolled her eyes unrepentantly.

"Why do you think that, Jon?" asked Diana, frowning. "I thought…I mean…isn't he dead as well?"

Jon's features, though as stoic as they ever were, managed to give off the air of being slightly distressed. "That was never truly proven, as you know. There are murmurings…rumors…"

"But why would a couple of school kids want anything to do with _him_?" asked John, incredulous. "I know they're asses, but You-Know-Who…that's…"

"They're not simply a couple of school kids," Bruce said, his eyes flat and colorless as the frozen Black Lake. "Their families are ancient, powerful, with ties to everything and everyone in the wizarding world. All the important parts, anyway. And once we all leave Hogwarts come June, who knows what's going to happen?"

"You can't seriously think…" Wally said, uncertainly. "No one wants _him_ back."

"Haven't you heard about all the stunts Intergang has been pulling lately, Wally?" asked Bruce. "The magic they're utilizing, not to mention the technology—they're leagues above what the Mannheims were using just a couple of months ago."

"How do you know that?" asked Clark, brow furrowing as he looked at Bruce curiously. "Hey, is that what you've been do—,"

"The point is," cut in Bruce, leveling a glare at his best friend. "They're planning something."

"Then why didn't you go with Cobblepot?" asked Diana, every bit of her expressive face telling Bruce that the issue of just what he'd been doing these last few weeks had not been forgotten. "At least then you might be able to figure out what they're up to."

"The day I let myself be summoned by the likes of Lex Luthor and Bruno Mannheim is the day I let Jervis Tetch dress me up like Alice in Wonderland so I can marry the Giant Squid," Bruce said, quite seriously.

"So it's your ego?" said Diana, with a quirk in her brow that clearly said, _ugh, men_. Even seven years at Hogwarts hadn't divested the Amazon Princess of her more stubborn opinions about the ways of the greater wizarding world.

"Well, that and the fact that if I actually went over with Oswald Cobblepot, they'd immediately know I was being disingenuous," Bruce said mildly. "I've never acquiesced to them before. Why would I start tonight?"

Clark made a snorting sound. "If they really want to talk to you, I'm sure you won't have much choice in the matter."

"That's what I'm counting on," Bruce replied, one corner of his mouth pulling up just a fraction, a smile so tiny only Clark, so close at his side, could see it.

* * *

They had their heads bowed together, voices quiet and amused as they walked back to the Common Room, when Luthor and Mannheim made their move. Diana was gone, checking in on Steve Trevor, her _don't_-call-him-my-boyfriend and one of the Gryffindor Chasers, currently laid up in the Hospital Wing with a bad case of Bludger to the head. The rest of their friends had dispersed all over the castle, leaving Clark and Bruce alone in their trek back to the dormitories.

It was the perfect opportunity for the Slytherins to strike.

"Beat it, Kent," Mannheim grunted, gesturing rudely at Clark.

"And why should I listen to—," began Clark belligerently.

"This has nothing to do with someone of your…ah…background," Luthor cut in, voice silky smooth. The torchlight in the corridors made his bald head gleam rather magnificently against his black robes.

Clark shot him the most vitriolic look he could muster, picked up from that week in fourth year that Bruce had discovered Wally playing around with his top of the line Nimbus 1700.

"Go on, run along," Luthor said dismissively, raising a brow at him.

"It's fine, Clark, I'll catch up with you later," Bruce said, giving Clark a level look. Clark huffed, but started down the corridor, glancing over his shoulder as he turned the far corner, brows furrowed with suspicion.

"What do you want?" Bruce said, surveying the two Slytherins with unmasked distrust.

"We have a proposition," Mannheim said, a slow smile starting across his face, greedy and intent.

Luthor didn't grin, but there was something in his eyes, something calculating. "A business proposition."

* * *

One of the benefits of superhearing was that not even the muttered privacy spell Mannheim had cast could prevent Clark from listening in on the quiet conversation. There was the cold precision of Luthor's voice, shaping words like he was forging weapons, and Mannheim's oily tones, but above it all was Bruce's voice, clear and precise and as familiar as his heartbeat.

The heartbeat that sped up slightly as Bruce issued his planned lie, his planned promise.

"Tomorrow at midnight, then," he said, and Clark could _hear_ the falsehood in the way the blood rushed through Bruce's body.

And even though his best friend had a plan—and his plans were always logical, always sound—Clark couldn't help but feel the cold steel feeling of uneasiness settle deep into his gut.

Because plans didn't always go the way they were supposed to.

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**Author's Note:** So there you have it, my self-indulgent superheroes go to Hogwarts fic. If there's anyone out there who happens to like this piece of fantasy and wants me to continue, just let me know. Otherwise I'm going to scrap the whole project out of sheer embarrassment and forget it ever happened, haha.

Written for the dcu_freeforall Autumn Challenge (T16; P34: Fall/Autumn), bradygirl_12's Halloween challenge (witches, books on magic, ritual, wants, cloaks, Harry Potter), and the prompt "fantasy" from my Superbats challenge table, all at LiveJournal.


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